


i know your pain (and i'll help you carry it best i can)

by rinhail



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6841162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinhail/pseuds/rinhail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>because you look at the cross like you would a lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i know your pain (and i'll help you carry it best i can)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this awhile back and was kind of scared to post it because I feel like television characters are harder to write. So, there's probably a lot of OOC going on here, but I liked the idea and couldn't help myself. There is mention of past relationships between Ragnar and Athelstan and, of course, Lagertha and Ragnar. And the story takes place maybe a few days after Ragnar returns from Paris at the end of season three. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the series or its characters.

Lagertha catches him one morning when she goes in to check on him. He's healed, somewhat, from his wounds he received in Paris, but nevertheless she expects to see him lying in bed . Earlier she had dismissed Helga, who had taken up Ragnar's care. So now she was about to be alone with her ex-husband in a long time. She was apprehensive if the light sheen of sweat on the back of her neck was any indication. She had nothing to fear from Ragnar, but they'd been through so much and had left many things unresolved between them. 

She walks in, softly closing the door behind her, and stops in her tracks. At first, her heart leaps with joy because Ragnar's up. To be exact, he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet flat on the wool rug. He's hunched over, breath labored, clutching something unseeable, and there is a visible tightness in his back, but Lagertha is happy nonetheless he's recovered enough to move. She remembers how terribly immobile he was a few days ago. How irritated he was that Helga and others had to prop him up to feed him because he didn't have the strength enough to do it himself. 

She inclines her head, and her heart drops at the sight of his face. His teeth bared, and his face glistens with sweat—he's obviously in pain. She bites the inside of her mouth, hard. She wants to help, take the pain away from him. Because despite what he did to her, she still loves him. Probably always will. 

She opens her mouth to tell him to sit back in bed, but before she can, he does something that takes her words and breath away. He closes his eyes, and his face relaxes; the lines around his eyes and mouth soften, and if it weren't for the sweat he'd look healed. He opens his hand, and Lagertha sees the cross Athelstan use to wear resting in his palm. His mouth curves upward softly, and he brings the cross to his lips. 

Lagertha leaves the room just as silently as she entered.

~*~

The second time she witnesses Ragnar with the cross is during an argument. Well, not during one, but after one. He isn't entirely recovered, but he's good enough to sit on his throne and resume his duties as King. And so there she finds him, listening to Bjorn and Kalf argue over where they will raid next.

She clenches her jaw. _"Of course, we'll be going back to Paris. Why bring this nonsense to an injured man?"._ She's about to scold them when Ragnar lets out a guttural sound from his throat that makes both men stop and turn towards their King. He speaks, slow and straight to the point, and they both look like scolded children. Lagertha smiles—Ragnar's recovering, slowly but beautifully. Ragnar finishes speaking, and they both nod to their King and exit via the side door. 

Lagertha steps forward but stops when Ragnar slumps, so his forearms rest on his knees. But his posture isn't what prevents her from coming forward, it's the gold cross that slipped from beneath his thin shirt, now swinging off his neck. Her cheeks grow warm thinking about what Ragnar did earlier that week to the cross. 

Ragnar sighs loudly and grabs the cross with one hand. He leans back in his throne and kisses it like he used to kiss her and like he kisses Aslaug now and like she suspects he kissed Athelstan back then. He inhales sharply and closes his eyes, and the cross remains on his lips. 

And again, Lagertha retreats without a word.

~*~

She confronts him the fifth time she sees him doing it. She's had enough slinking away. She's spent too many nights, tossing and turning, replaying Ragnar and that damn cross in her head. She needs, for her sanity, to confirm he isn't holding onto the cross for the wrong reasons. That what she's seen isn't Ragnar fully converted to the Christian God.

 _"Please let it be what I think it is,"_ she thinks to herself as she knocks on his bedroom door. 

Ragnar's annoyed voice calls from inside for her to enter. She does and thanks All-Father Aslaug and the children decided to sleep separately from Ragnar because he's crawling into bed, naked. Her cheeks pink slightly, but she's not embarrassed enough to turn away. 

"Can I talk to you?" she asks. At one time, she would have jumped at the sight of his flesh, and even now she does feel an odd stir below, but this is more important. 

"You can," he says, grinning. "You want to join me?" He pats the space beside him, and Lagertha can't help but break face and smile at his wiggling eyebrows.

"This is serious, Ragnar." She walks to the front of the bed and stops.

Ragnar sighs and rolls his eyes in displeasure. "What is it now?"

"Why do you carry the cross?" she asks, bluntly. _"And why do I see you kissing it?"_ She wants to ask that, but the question lodges in her throat. Something about the question feels too intimate, too personal, and in reality, she can already guess the answer. 

Ragnar stops settling in and studies her with a blank expression. If Lagertha were any other woman, she'd falter under his piercing gaze, but she knows Ragnar is just trying to assess why she's asking these questions. He's looking for any threats she may be making. "Why do you ask?" 

Lagertha sighs and crosses her arms over her chest. "Usually, you're discreet about carrying it around, but today you let everyone see it." 

"And?" he asks, annoyance growing. "Are they fussing?" 

"Ragnar," she begins, taking a deep breath. "I'm worried about what some of them might do if you continue carrying around the Christian symbol." She exhales. "And I'm shocked no-one took advantage of your weaken state, but you displaying the cross openly will only give them more incentive to do so." 

Ragnar rolls his eyes and yanks the blankets up to his stomach. "Do you think I care what they think?"

"I know you don't," she tells him, firmly. "But you still need to be careful." He looks at her half-annoyed, half-exasperated, so she continues. "I don't care if you keep the cross," she pauses and looks at him from under her lashes. "I care about the reasons." 

His eyes meet hers, and they study one another. Ragnar is first to break eye contact, and he pulls the said cross out from his shirt. Lagertha's breath catches because as soon as he has it in his hands, his eyes bore into the detailed object, and for a moment it's like she doesn't exist. 

"This was his," he starts, and finally looks up at her. The haunted look on his face pains Lagertha to witness, and she sits on the edge of the bed with her back turned. "It's all I have left of him." His voice turns hushed and Lagertha can imagine his expression twisting as the memories of Athelstan appear—alive and laughing—and then disappear to be replaced by the man's last moments. And for how much Ragnar loved Athelstan, and how much Ragnar must feel guilty for his death, those memories must be replaying over and over in an endless cycle of heartache. 

Lagertha nods and manages to find her voice. "I know— _but not everyone knew how you truly felt about him. And even if they did they would damn you for it,_ she thinks, but instead says: "But everyone here will only see you carrying around a piece of the Christian's faith. They won't be as understanding and will use it to either overthrow you, run you out of Kattegat, or worse—kill you for betraying the Gods." 

"Look at me, Lagertha." 

Lagertha wants to shake her head in defiance because she's scared to witness Ragnar's expression. She's even more terrified to see the cross in his hands. But he nudges her with his foot, and she exhales and half-turns on the bed. His expression, as it turns out, is neutral, and he's already put the cross back underneath his shirt. 

"You know I've never cared what people thought of me or the actions I've taken," he says and smiles softly. It's the most genuine smile he's shown since Athelstan died, and Lagertha can't help but feel her eyes water. "But I know these people will never understand—or even try too—so I will be careful." His smile turns into a devilish grin. "Besides, you will protect me if anyone grows balls enough to harm me." 

Lagertha laughs, freely until it tapers off to a permanent smile lighting her face. She squeezes his ankle. "Thank you for listening—for once." He kicks his foot out in a mock attempt to push her off the bed, but she's already standing away from him, grinning down at his pursed lips. "You need a lot more rest before you can push me around." 

His smile slowly creeps along his face, the crinkles around his eyes making her focus on their brightness. He looks so unlike the broken man she's known since Athelstan's death. He resembles the man he used to be when Athelstan was alive and well—youthful, open, even vulnerable. It makes Lagertha have the urge to climb into bed and hold the man close. She has no doubt Ragnar wouldn't mind the gesture, and would probably tease her later on, but doing so won't sweep away his pain. The warmth they'll create between them will only distract him momentarily from the severe loss he feels all the way in the marrow of his bones. 

Instead, she bids him a good night and a firm reprimand that he stay in bed. "No sense in you shocking the whole village with your nudity," she tells him, and he flips the blanket up giving her an eye full. She rolls her eyes and walks away, shutting his bedroom door close behind her. She leans back against the wooden surface and swallows thickly. The conversation between the two of them repeats over and over in her head. She inhales deeply, looks to her left and right, and exhales softly. She slides down to sit on the floor, reaches into the folds of her shirt and pulls out a small knife, which she then sets on her lap and rest both her hands on top. She closes her eyes but does not sleep. She occupies her mind with thoughts of Ragnar and the cross—what the cross represents—Ragnar and Athelstan, and silently vows to protect all three.

**Author's Note:**

> I struggle so badly with endings, and this one was no exception. And obviously, Lagertha can't protect Athelstan, but I didn't know what else to say. Nothing else made sense to me. I loved the idea of Ragnar hanging onto the cross (which we've yet to see in season four) and treating it so fondly, but I feel like I've butchered the idea. I don't know. What do you guys think? Please point out any grammar mistakes. I only did a quick edit.


End file.
